A chilling silence and a child's broken dreams. The trees were stretching out into the heavens, searching for something out of their grasps. Bare and skinny they were with textures that spoke of the harshness that they had faced– rugged, brittle and starving for refreshing nutrients that would fill their hollowness. The world was monochrome, black caked in white, and it thrived on its lack of colour. A strong, invading gust of wind rushed in and embraced the dead forest with its freezing presence, the little specks of white following along obediently. Dominating– that is what they were. The snow that engulfed and sucked the life out of everything in its way was impossible to stand against and without any effort at all, they ruled the land. Nothing was the same anymore. To a young boy, home had become suffocating. White– so pristine and pure– wrapped its ugly hands around nature's neck. Tough, unforgiving and merciless was the law. Not even the warmth of a mother's tender understanding nor a father's bright grin could melt the rock-solid heart of everlasting winter.

A land separate from reality that roars at those who dare disturb it from its universe. It breathes down your neck and holds a threatening knife against your throat, ready to strike. A world that seems too unbelievable, you'd believe it to be fiction and it was precisely that that caused the outsiders to mutter conspiracy after conspiracy.

Something is out there, they would say despite life not thriving in years. Their words, without their knowledge, were poison. Poison to the forest as no one would dare to uncurl themselves from the safety of their homes to bring the cursed forest back to its former glory. Fools blinded by the lies they spewed from their mouths.

The forest was thirsty, crying out for something– anything. The piles of snow, appearing useless and weak, were immortal. They provided no moisture to the ground as anything remotely liquid was transformed into something unbreakable. It was ceaseless routine at this point. Cover, enrapture and if something dared to peek from the prison that was ice, grab it and dominate. Tough, unforgiving and merciless was the law and it was followed religiously.

What of the living beings– animals– that could survive harsh temperatures? Destroy, destroy, destroy, shouted the heaven that the trees were pleading to.

Cursed forest, the faraway villagers said quietly to themselves.

It wasn't always like this! A boy wishes to shout into the waves of untruths. A small voice, a small opinion that can't create a ripple. His nearly non-existent cries echo in empty, uncaring space. Trapped he is, much like the forest, to society. Keep your head down, don't step out of line.

What a coward he is, the thought comes unbidden. A thought that is much like a parasite, feeding off him and his fragile emotions. The doorknob felt like it always did. Its texture was familiar and he knew the way it easily opened like the back of his hand. Tempting, tempting, tempting. Escape, run and die like the rest of the fools– a fitting end to a boy who can't let go of the past.

The forest is cold, contrasting the villagers as they dance merrily around a warm fire, soaking in the companionship of their brethren. Their forms are embraced in a welcoming glow and the taste of honey sits heavy on the boy's tongue. What a coward he is, the thought snarls and he snuggles deeper into the thick, wooly blankets. His thumb unconsciously traces the patterns of the handmade stitches and the (guiltregret) unease in his stomach stubbornly stays.

The frozen land outside is a wasteland. Its claws are barred while it growls with heated emotions that contradict its bone-chilling grasp. It is too late for it.